


Lights In The Sky

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Nygmobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been one month, three days, and seventeen hours since Oswald’s most profound failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights In The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a prompt by Baskervilleshund on tumblr, and originally posted at  
> http://mindlessgothamite.tumblr.com

It had been one month, three days, and seventeen hours since Oswald’s most profound failure. When he slept, the scene replayed in his mind’s eye over and over, the dual talons of guilt and heartbreak gripping at his chest and his brain with relentless fury. The line between sleeping and wakefulness had begun to blur in his grief; he would wake but be unable to move, unable to breathe, exhaustion holding his body hostage while his mind refused to slip back under. The only restful sleep the disgraced mob boss had gotten had been the brief spells of drug-induced sleep at Nygma’s apartment, or the times his body had shut down entirely and his sleep was dreamless.

Edward. Oswald had only really felt at peace with his mother’s death when he was with him, but now that wasn’t an option. He was alone in every sense of the word. He had left after Theo Galavans murder, taking to the streets like the gutter trash he once turned away from his club. A simple note was all the scientist had received from Oswald, written in his flowing script on the back of a Chinese takeout menu and pushed under the space beneath Ed’s apartment door.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.  
Please forget me.  
\- OCC”

Oswald had failed at so many things that he knew if he didn’t leave, Edward would be the one to suffer for it. He couldn’t let that happen. Pushing him away was what would keep Edward from being under the microscope of the GCPD, the only thing that would keep the other man from ending up in the same hole that Oswald had now made his home. He would protect the eccentric man the way he couldn’t protect his sainted mother; by leaving him be, to live his life unburdened by Oswald’s presence. He trusted Ed could find some lie to explain why he’d been associated with him in the first place.

Basic survival instinct was what kept Oswald moving, kept him from throwing himself into the river and letting the current do with him what it pleased. That instinct that forced his daily routine was the same one that numbed him inside, enough to do nothing but sate his more basic needs and urges; to eat, to rest, to find warmth, to stay hidden from the predators lurking in every Gotham alleyway. It was the furthest he had ever fallen, and the one person he would usually turn to for advice was dead because of his narcissism and pride.

Oswald laid against the semi-frozen ground, forehead pressed against the smooth stone of the grave marker. The scent of the newest batch of lilies filled his pointed nose, and his eyes slipped shut. Though he had stolen the flowers, he knew she would have loved them. White lilies in full bloom, the symbol of the only other woman his mother ever respected; the Virgin Mary. A few yellow lilies, because they made him think of her smile, and how her laugh filled him with joy even when he found it to be out of place for the situation.

He didn’t know how long he had been at her grave that day, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. Apathy permeated his mind, muffled the growling in his belly, and stifled the desire to stay tucked away somewhere. He only wanted to lay there beside her until the light faded from the sky, to let the cold of night drift him off to sleep and leave the warmth of her love a distant, cherished memory.

Opening his eyes, Oswald gave the faintest of smiles. It was beginning to get dark out, finally. The numb chill in his bones was welcome, even soothing the constant pain in his leg. Better to feel nothing than to feel too much, right?

“I thought I’d find you here.” Oswald was startled, and on instinct made his body small, curling in on himself as he looked up. It wasn’t dark out at all; only the shadow of a man he never thought he would see again.

“.. Ed?” Oswald’s voice was hoarse; he hadn’t done much speaking in the past week or so, and it showed in the strain that it took to get out his name.

“Hello, little bird.” Edward knelt down and offered him a hand to sit up. In his other hand were flowers; an arrangement Oswald wouldn’t have picked out, but didn’t fault him for. He didn’t know.

“Why are you here?” The smaller man mumbled, shakily taking the hand and pulling himself to sit upright.

“To pay my respects. And to find you.” The way Ed spoke was concise and honest, two qualities of speech Oswald made it a point to avoid.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He returned sharply, pulling his hand from the other man’s and his knees to his chest.

“No, probably not. And you should be wearing something more significant for the weather. I suppose we’re both being reckless.” Edward spoke gently, as if approaching an unsettled animal. Oswald figured it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Why? I wanted you to forget me, Ed.” Perhaps he hadn’t gotten his note.

“We don’t always get what we want, do we?” Edward shifted, moving to sit at his side next to the grave.

“Go away, Eddie. Leave me be. If anyone finds you here the GCPD will look at you… I don’t want to risk you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could prevent them. Edward had a way of causing Oswald to lay things out bare.

“Is that why you disappeared on me? Ozzie…” Ed scooted in close. Oswald lacked the energy to lash out, to move away.

He wouldn’t do either next to her, truth be told, but no one needed to know that. He laid his head against his knees and closed his eyes. And then, warmth; an arm around his shoulders, the taller man’s body pressed against his side, and the smell of his cologne washing over his senses as tenderly as Edward’s words had been on his initial approach. The heat from Edward’s body was an invasion seeping into his chilled skin, threatening the numbness he was beginning to take comfort in. Still, he didn’t move. Maybe if he didn’t speak to him or acknowledge him any further, Ed would go away.

The longer Oswald waited, the more his heart began to ache. He ached for his mother, for her comforting words and doting, for the Sunday dinners and the overbearing way she insisted on fixing his ties before he left the house. And as time crawled on, a new pain began to slide its tendrils out from the depths of his psyche, a pain unacknowledged before this point. The pain of knowing that Edward cared, and that Oswald cared for him as well. The pain of knowing that whatever had transpired between them before could not continue, for Edward’s sake. There was no greater tragedy then the death of potential, and they had been doomed before they had even gotten a chance to start.

It was this revelation that opened the floodgates. Body shaking as it thawed, Oswald began to cry. Both of Edward’s arms wrapped around him, pulling the small man to his chest. Though Edward had little experience with the emotions of others, this seemed to come naturally to him. Everything seemed more natural in the other man’s arms. All the emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to project came pouring out at once, and Edward accepted and absorbed it without a word. Oswald felt himself being rocked like a child as he sobbed, heard the man humming a gentle, comforting tune deep in his throat. The noise was barely audible but vibrated in his chest.

Oswald fisted his hands in Edward’s coat, whimpering as all of the sorrow and despair began to drain from his body in an act of deeply needed catharsis. There, surrounded by the two people who meant the most, one who made him and one who saved him, a new feeling began to take root in the wound in his heart. Behind him was his past, his mother. She had made him who he was, formed him from heartache and unconditional love.

In front of him, arms holding Oswald tight, was the man who could be his future.

For the first time in one month, three days, and eighteen hours, Oswald felt hope.


End file.
